


Auguries of Immortality

by Soledad



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Stargate Atlantis, Torchwood
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Sentient Atlantis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 12:50:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5291507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soledad/pseuds/Soledad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chaya Shar, the outcast Ancient from the planet Proculus, watches with concern the development in the Pegasus galaxy. She fears that Atlantis might fall in the wrong hands, because no-one, not even Sheppard is able to bond with the city the way it's supposed to happen. She decides to ask a very old friend for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Timeframe: Shortly after the 2nd series finale for Torchwood. Throughout Season 3 for SGA. Yes, I know I've twisted the timeline a bit to make the two shows fit, so what? This is an AU; a rather extreme one.

She'd been born to a race that, at the time of her birth, ruled over two galaxies. Well, ruled was probably an inaccurate word for it, as they never tried to enslave the younger races or to make them dependant. But they were so far above the others that they were considered gods by many.

They were striding from planet to planet, from solar system to solar system, from galaxy to galaxy like the titans of old myths. Searching, learning, discovering – and sowing out new life, using their own genetic pattern to create a second, younger version of their own kind, out there in the smaller galaxy. And back home, too, on the small, insignificant planet that had once been the cradle of their own race.

They had been the founders of the great alliance between the older races in their own galaxy. An alliance of the four oldest, most powerful races in existence. Of the four allies, the Tollans were now eradicated by an old enemy, the parasitic Goa'uld; the Furlings had vanished into a parallel dimension, and the Nox had chosen to retreat to a life in obscurity on their own home planet and follow a strict non-interference policy.

Only the Asgard were still keeping up their guardianship over the younger races. But they were a dying people now and seriously threatened by small, self-replicating robots. They, too, were on the verge of extinction.

Her own race had vanished from both galaxies, too. They'd been well beyond their zenith at the time of her birth already, and the plague had decimated them beyond hope. They were also losing the war against he Wraith, a terrible race they'd created by accident, and the only way to escape total annihilation was to ascend. To go to a dimension where the Wraith couldn't follow. To a dimension completely under their control – or so they'd thought back then.

The agreement about that solution had not been complete. There were some of them, like Oma Desala, Morgan, Orin, Janus – or herself, for that matter – who'd argued that the Ascension must not mean they need to isolate themselves from the lower levels of existence. That they couldn't, mustn't abandon the younger races. Those were their children, in a manner, their progeny, created to take over their place in the great order of things. How could they leave them behind, unprotected?

But the majority was tired of the endless struggles, tired of the war, the terrible losses, and wanted nothing to do with this level of existence anymore. She and her supporters had been outvoted, and a strong prohibition against interference had been established. Those who'd acted against this rule were cast out and severely punished.

Janus had been the most outraged by this new rule; but he'd also been the cleverest one. He'd found a way to leave their progeny the means of defending themselves against the Wraith and to eventually gain back control over the Pegasus galaxy that had been chosen as their refuge… but had become their nightmare.

Janus, who'd decided against Ascending, had been experimenting with sentient technology for quite some time; with artificial intelligence, using a human component as its guardian. Not the biotechnology the Wraith used – that would have been too easily infected by the enemy. No, Janus had been trying to create something completely new, and he'd come so close to make it work!

The answer would have been Atlantis: one of the standard city-ships that usually served as colony ships or warships. Unknown by all but his closest co-workers, Janus had made gradual but profound changes of the key systems of the ship, adding upgrades to its central processor until it reached the critical mass and was ready to awake, to become sentient.

It would still have required a compatible human being to merge with, to be its guide and conscience, and it would have required from the human link to undergo a metamorphosis not unlike the Ascension yet not entirely similar, to be able to bond with the ship. But once that was done, ship and link would have become a joint entity; powerful, immortal and damn hard to destroy.

Janus had originally intended to become the first such link himself. He'd have taught the others how to modify the other existing ships then, until they'd have had a whole sentient fleet to their disposal to make an end of the Wraith threat, so that the people of the Pegasus galaxy could go through evolution undisturbed.

Had the Wraith attack against Lantea come just one year later, he'd have succeeded. Everything had been in readiness; all Janus would have had to do was to go to the cloister, established for those who'd prepared themselves for the Ascension, and trigger the metamorphosis of his own body. There were methods to change one's biology, and their people had known those for aeons.

But the all-out Wraith attack had come earlier than expected, and all Janus could do was to hide Atlantis, deep under the Lantean ocean. Before he and the handful of not-ascended survivors would flee back to Earth, to the cradle of their kind, however, he'd visited her in her exile, to leave her with a complicated legacy.

"I've got proof that our progeny from Earth will come one day, looking for Atlantis," he said. "I'm not entirely certain when, but I'm afraid it will be a long wait. I've left them instructions and a hidden ally in Atlantis – if they can find and understand them, we can reasonably hope that they'll be worthy. But they won't be able to wake up Atlantis without your help."

She was a little bewildered, and so he told her everything about the new achievements. About the weapons upgrade he'd secretly made on the ship. About the genetic stamp some of the Earth people – and only the Earth people – would carry: the gene that would enable them to use their ancestor's technology, despite the built-in safeguards that would make it useless for everyone else.

"If they find their way here, if they come to understand the working of the Gates, it will mean that they'd have developed far enough to take over their inheritance," he said. "And if they manage to find you on this planet, using the clues left in Atlantis' database, they'll be ready to use her properly. It shall be your job, though, to find the right link and to prepare him – or her – for the eternity of that task."

With that, he left her, and the long waiting began.

It lasted ten thousand years as people on Earth counted time.

~TBC~


	2. Time Is A Delicate Matter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that in canon Zarah was every bit as clueless as the other inhabitants of Proculus. However, I took some poetic licence here and changed a few aspects of his relationship with Chaya – for the simple reason because it seemed more logical to me. This is an AU anyway.

While the inhabitants of the quaint little pre-technological planet Proculus were peacefully going after their daily business, their sole protector was looking into the future – into several possible futures, for that matter – with ever-growing anxiety. So far, she'd been able to protect this one, simple world that had been her trap, her prison, her punishment… a fate she'd willingly accepted a long time ago, in order to spare its dwellers the horror of a Wraith invasion.

She'd kept the technology level low, so that her wards wouldn't catch the Wraith's eye. She'd done so by religion; by making herself their goddess and her high priestess at the same time. Her followers never guessed that those were he one and same person… not even her abbots had any idea.

She was a benevolent dictator, camouflaged as a religious leader, but she meant it well with them. She knew what was out there and that being invisible was the best way to survive. And as she offered safety and a good life, in perfect health, her subjects obeyed her willingly enough.

But since the young ones from Earth had entered Atlantis and accidentally woke up the Wraith, life in the Pegasus galaxy had become a lot more dangerous. She could protect Proculus from a Wraith raid, even from a Hive ship or two, but not against a whole armada. Only Atlantis could do that, and only if fully awake. Only then would the ship – she could never think of her as a city, it sounded so immobile, so… lifeless – unfold her full potential, unleash her vast power, get her secret weapons online.

The only problem was: Atlantis hadn't been fully awakened to begin with. Work and research on that particular problem had barely been finished before Janus had to sink the ship deep under the ocean. To make the next evolutionary step, Atlantis needed a human component: a caretaker who would meld with her and became one with the incredibly complicated cybernetics. Only the human thought was fast enough to deal with that kind of communication. A highly capable and disciplined human brain with a strong ability to compartmentise. Or else the owner of said brain would go crazy with the complexity of the task.

Plus, the person in question had to be a carrier of the Ancient gene, of course.

And that presented a serious hindrance. None of the Pegasus galaxy humans possessed the gene; her fellow Ancients had made sure that before leaving the entire galaxy behind, defenceless against a horrible foe they'd created in the first place. The risk that the Wraith – or any other malevolent power – would force the local humans to use the gene and make Ancient technology accessible for them would be too great, they'd said.

She hated that argument. She hated the hypocrisy behind it. They'd left these countless people, refusing to help, making the means to help themselves unavailable for them. The mere thought made her proud to be cast out. At least she hadn't abandoned those who were weaker than her own kind. Even if she'd had to endure eternal solitude in exchange.

When she'd tried to bond with Sheppard, one of the leaders of the young ones, she'd had high hopes that this would be the person Atlantis needed. The man had a very strong, natural gene, and the ship's systems already obeyed him without hesitation. But when she'd tried to reach deep within his mind, to trigger the transformation, nothing happened.

She realized that the gene alone, no matter how strong, wasn't enough. A very specific genetic structure was required to make the transformation possible – one that neither of the gene carriers currently living on Atlantis possessed. She knew that already. She'd checked their medical files during her brief visit on the ship – even though their doctor hadn't realized that.

That left her no other option. In order to fend off the Wraith, to protect her involuntary yet much-loved home – not to mention the rest of the Pegasus galaxy – she needed help. She needed Atlantis. And she already knew whom she'd ask for help.

She'd known the man all her life, although she never learned his name. Sometimes she doubted he even had one. But he was a knowledgeable and powerful being; one who sometimes was willing to bend the rules to do the right thing. She had no doubt that he'd be willing to help… if she could still contact him, that is.

She left her personal haven – a primitive little stone building that was considered the temple of the deity she supposedly served – and descended through the garden surrounding the monastery. If she wanted to try contacting her old friend and sometimes ally, she needed the equipment she hadn't used for millennia. Even for her advanced race, sending a direct message through the vast expanses of space required technological help. Especially if the person receiving the message had to be located in a different time.

Sure, she could have operated the communications system by sheer willpower alone, but what would have been the point in doing so? This body she was wearing had little enough to do as it was. And besides, working things normally was something she enjoyed. It helped pass eternity, and the visible results still filled her with satisfaction.

Which was the reason why she enjoyed working in the garden so much. It wasn't so that she actually needed food – her physical body was, if not exactly an illusion, a temporary form anyway – but those simple tasks helped her to anchor her very being on this planet. To feel like belonging here, instead of merely trapped, forever.

The Others would never understand it. They wanted to leave behind everything connected to a physical existence; saw it as things below them. She saw their attitude towards work and the satisfaction it brought as another thing in which the Others were tragically wrong. Unfortunately, there was little hope that he'd ever be able to change their minds.

In the garden, she inevitably met Zarah, like every time when she left her private sanctuary. Zarah, a simple yet intelligent man in his middle years, was her senior abbot and her confidant; the only one who knew about the powerful technology under their feet. He couldn't have operated it – like all Pegasus galaxy humans, he lacked the necessary gene – but at least he knew about its existence. That, too, was against the rules, but she didn't really care. Somebody needed to know the truth. Somebody had to be able to guide the true Children, should they ever show up on their doorstep.

She'd been prepared for that possibility for a very long time. From each generation of her faithful followers, she chose one man or woman to be the keeper of her secrets. She chose them very carefully, looking for intelligence and open-mindedness, but also for the willingness to serve. The ones with personal ambitions wouldn't do. This was a lifelong, unnoticed service only the humble could matter, as it brought little to no personal satisfaction.

Not even the other abbots knew about the chosen ones, and the simple folk even less so. That was for their own safety.

Officially, Zarah was the gardener of their monastery, aside from being the senior among his brethren; and indeed, he did work in the garden regularly and was quite decent at it. In truth, however, he was the living memory of his people. He might not be able to operate the equipment hidden under the fertile soil of the gardens, but he knew, in theory, how to do it. He could instruct the Children, if he had to.

He'd started to learn the secrets of Proculus at the tender age of twelve, having been selected from the orphans raised in the monastery, first as the errand boy of the High Priestess, then as an apprentice gardener. There were several such boys and apprentices all the time, and they were all personally taught by her. No-one had even guessed Zarah's privileged status – or heavy personal burden, depending on one's point of view – not even those he shared a dormitory with in his youth.

A youth he was no longer. He was in his prime, quiet and supportive and humble and wise. One of the best she'd ever chosen. Sometimes she regretted that such extraordinary men and women led a celibate life; that their line would not continue. She'd never asked them to do that. It had been their own choice, seeing that she, too, led a life in seclusion. They wanted to follow her in everything, and she couldn't tell them the true reason for her solitary life. Not even the chosen ones knew all her secrets.

She could change her appearance and simulate aging. That was something she'd learned after the first two or three millennia that she'd spent at a distance from her people. Now she vanished from sight every sixty or seventy years, pretending to go on a long pilgrimage to find her successor. Then she'd return as a young woman again, since those who'd known her as one were no longer alive. They never realized she was one and the same very time – had been the same for ten thousand years.

The keepers of secrets were the only ones who knew. They simply had to, in order to serve in their function properly. So yes, Zarah was currently the only person on Proculus who knew who she was and what she was- He was the only one aware of the fact that her hopes to find the right person among the Earth people now living on Atlantis had failed… and what that meant for the people of the Pegasus galaxy.

She couldn't make a move against the Wraith openly – that would lead to severe repercussions from the Others for her people. But she could use Janus' legacy to guide the Children in their struggle against the Wraith. The irony of the whole situation was that by creating the Cloister in that well-guarded other planet, the Others had given the means into her hands… if she found the right person.

Of course, being trapped on her world, she didn't have the means to go and look for that person. Which was the reason why she needed help.

Seeing her approaching the secret entrance of the underground base, Zarah could make an educated guess what she was palling to do, of course. Even though his first guess was wrong.

"Do you wish to contact the Others?" he asked. "Do you truly believe they'd be willing to help, after all this time?"

"Of course not," she answered, feeling the old bitterness well up in her, even after ten millennia. "Nor would I give them the satisfaction to beg – and to be refused again. But I cannot watch the Wraith on rampage and do nothing, either."

'What can you do, though?" Zarah asked. "You've already tried to bond with these Earth people, and it did not work."

"It did not work because I was mistaken," she said. "I believed that having the Lantean gene would be enough. I was wrong. Something else is required."

"And that would be?" Zarah lifted a sceptical eyebrow.

"I'm not entirely sure," she admitted. "But as far as I can tell, Janus apparently encoded Atlantis' awakening algorithms, using his own genetic make-up. So, if we want to wake up the ship, to unfold its whole potential, we need to find one of his descendants."

"And how, pray tell, are we supposed to do that?" Zarah asked doubtfully. "You've told me yourself that he'd left this entire galaxy ten thousand years ago. Do you know where he went?"

"To Earth," she answered quietly. "They all returned to Earth – the few that were still alive and in a physical body, that is – to live out their lives under the Children. That had been our planet of origin, after all."

"And you truly believe Janus still has descendants among the Earth people?" Zarah wasn't very optimistic about that. "Ten thousand years, Chaya! It's a very long time, even by the measure of your people!"

"And yet the gene had prevailed all this time," she replied. "I know now that Janus has no descendants among the inhabitants of Atlantis. But Earth is a heavily populated planet. Among six billion people, there has to be at least one with the right genetic make-up."

"Perhaps so," Zarah allowed. "But how do you intend to find them? The Others would never allow you to leave Proculus; and while I could leave, I don't have the means to reach Earth. I doubt that I'd be welcome on Atlantis… or that the people would allow me to use their Gate."

"True," she said. "Which is why I'm asking for help."

"Asking whom?" Zarah wondered.

She smiled. "An old acquaintance. A very advanced being from a far-away place, who could pass as a human, unless thoroughly examined. I've known him for a very long time, and he has contacts on Earth. He'll be able to find the person we need."

"He might have the means," Zarah said slowly, "but will he be willing?"

She smiled again. "Yes, I believe so. He loves to meddle with other people's affairs, and he sees it as his calling to right wrongs when he comes across them. At least he used to at the time we last met."

"He might not do so now?" Zarah asked with a frown. "Why not?"

"He tends to undergo dramatic changes sometimes," she replied evasively. "But deep down, he remains the same decent guy he's always been."

"Or so you hope," Zarah said darkly.

She nodded. "Or so I hope, yes. But what other choice do I have?"

"True enough," Zarah paused for a moment; then he asked formally. "Do you require assistance?"

She smiled, deeply touched by his unwavering faithfulness. Sometimes she wondered if she – if her entire race – was truly worthy to receive such devotion. Sometimes she feared the answer to that question.

"There's nothing you can help with, my, friend," she replied. "But I'd be grateful for your presence nonetheless. You've always been my rock and my anchor; you and the others who came before you."

Zarah blushed a little, which was a funny sight on the face of such a mature, serene man, and followed her to the hidden entrance. It looked like a still, dark-watered little pond – until she activated the remote control. The holographic water warbled for a moment; then it vanished, revealing a spiral staircase, made of some unknown grey metal Zarah hadn't seen anywhere else on Proculus. It went down at least forty feet under the garden, leading them to a large, sparsely furnished room filled with artificial light.

He'd been there before. He knew what the various consoles were for and how they worked, even though he couldn't operate them. Only the Ancestors and their progeny could. Still he knew that he console she was approaching now had once served as a communications device… even though he'd never seen her using it before. There simply hadn't been anyone left to call – or so he'd believed until today.

"I hope he's still around," she said quietly. "Last time I've met him we were fighting – and losing – the war with the Wraith and he was travelling through time, drawn in by Janus' experiments. He couldn't help us with the war… but I hope he'll be able to help me with my search."

She touched the surface of the console, activating the screen, which, however, showed nothing but a whirling maelstrom of colours.

"Come to me, old friend," she said simply, quietly. "I'm in need of your help and trapped here. I cannot seek you out. I hope you can still travel through space and time to find me."

She touched another gleaming surface, and a barely perceivable shudder run through the underground base as the powerful communications beam was activated. Then the screen went dark again.

"What now?" Zarah asked.

She deactivated the console. "Now we wait. There's no way to know where and when the message will reach him… if ever."

~TBC~


	3. Othara's CAll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone kindly pointed out some errors in my Classic Who references. I'm on my way to correct those, as soon as I've done some more research. Please bear with me in the meantime.

The tenth incarnation of the entity generally known as the Doctor had been without a companion for some time… not by his own choice. Truth be told, he hated travelling alone. The wide-eyed wonder displayed on the faces of his – preferably human – companions always made him appreciate the wonders of the universe anew. They made him feel young again, which was a true gift, as – despite his currently youthful appearance – he was an old and lonely soul.

His race was called the Time Lords, but at times like these he wondered whether Gallifreyans in general (and himself in particular) were prisoners of time, rather than ruling over it. Time Lords lived very long, due to their ability to regenerate if mortally wounded… but sometimes that was a curse, rather than a gift. His human companions all left him sooner or later, and eventually died, while he lived on, changing looks and personality after each regeneration.

He'd had his fair share of companions in this incarnation, but now they were all gone. They'd all sought out a life for themselves, leaving him behind to continue his lonely existence.

Rose, whom he gained in his previous form, had been stranded forever – or so it seemed – on a parallel world… where she'd returned with his partially-human clone to live out a normal life. Well, as normal as it was possible for someone with their memories. It still stunned him that he'd fall so hard for such a naïve young girl, but he understood that – despite everything – she needed someone more like her own kind.

Donna had been a lot more mature and courageous, but he'd had to let her go as well. She'd never have survived the Time Lord knowledge she'd accidentally gained during the last showdown with the Daleks. Which was particularly tragic, as it would have made her an almost equal partner; something he'd lacked for a very long time. But in order to save her life, he'd had to make her forget everything regarding him and their adventures together, and return her to her mother and grandfather.

Mickey had been an ambivalent companion in the best of times; keeping a grudge against him whom he blamed for his failed relationship with Rose, and yet unable to resist the wonders of the universe travelling with the TARDIS could show him. For a while anyway. Because after a while, Mickey had left, too, still keeping that old grudge, even after having broken up with Rose.

Martha had probably been the strongest and bravest of hall. Hadn't he been so besotted with Rose – something he'd come to blame on the extraordinary circumstances of his most regeneration for – he'd have realized in time that Martha had harboured feelings for him. Not that he'd been interested in her… not the way ephemeral human nature interpreted interest anyway. How could he? For the curse of Gallifreyan lifespan, human life was but a wink of an eye.

Well, there had been an exception, of course. One of the constants of the universe was that there had to be an exception from every rule. But Jack Harkness, or whatever his true name might have been in the far away future that would come, was something – someone – that went against every instinct of a Time Lord: a fixed point in time. He'd treated the man badly; he understood it now, which had perhaps been the reason why Jack had chosen to remain in Cardiff with his mortal friends (and his mortal lover) instead of travelling with him through space and time for eternity.

He understood it; just as he understood Martha's decision to leave him or Rose's to leave with his mortal clone. But understanding didn't make his loneliness any less oppressing.

His recent, brief reunion with a number of his former companions during the great showdown with the Daleks had only made him realize his profound loneliness more consciously. Especially the reunion with Sarah Jane Smith, who had been his longest-serving companion, on and off, since his third incarnation. Sarah had been a young girl when they'd first met, barely twenty-two – now she was a mature woman and a mother; still with a sense for excitement and adventure, still willing to battle evil and thwart the schemes of alien infiltrators in her own subdued ways, but with radically changed priorities.

He understood that her family had to come first. Still, he missed her more than any other companions, because with her, he had some semblance of continuity. She'd known him in four different incarnations… and she'd been the closes thing to a friend he'd had for a very long time. He might have had a schoolboy-sized crush (as Martha had called it) on Rose, but Sarah Jane was a solid presence in his life – even if she wasn't physically present – that he'd miss desperately, once she died.

And that was the core of the problem. Sooner or later, they'd all die. With the exception of Jack Harkness, of course, but that was a missed opportunity that wouldn't happen again any time soon.

His brooding (a more and more frequent occasion lately, although his present incarnation hadn't tended towards melancholy at first) was interrupted by a strange noise. It was a low, melodic hum, coming from the control panel of the TARDIS; a signal he hadn't heard for… he couldn't even remember how long. So long, indeed, that for a moment he couldn't even recognize it.

After all, people usually didn't contact him through the main comm system of the TARDIS – a somewhat outdated, yet still fully functional piece of equipment that used hyperspace shortcuts to send instant messages. Assuming he was in the same space-time continuum as the caller… which explained why it had fallen in misuse. Time Lords travelling with a tardis hardly ever lingered in the same continuum for long. Or, at the very least, in the same time period. That was the very point of time-travelling: to see other time periods.

Besides, since the destruction of Gallifrey, who'd even think of using such antiquated equipment? His people were gone, his home planet destroyed… there was nobody left to call.

Or so he'd thought, until now. The gentle, insistent humming of the comm system was living proof that not only was still someone out there who knew about it, but this someone also had to know the code to call this very specific TARDIS. They all had their unique comm codes; although, for his life, he couldn't remember anyone he'd ever given his. Aside from his own granddaughter, that is, but It was extremely unlikely that Susan would call him, even in the unlikely case that she were still alive somewhere out there. She'd broken all contact after his first regeneration; she just couldn't cope with him getting so much younger.

He wondered whether Jack Harkness had the same problem with his progeny. Perhaps he had. Perhaps that was the reason why Jack had turned to male lovers lately. Immortals really shouldn't set children in the world.

The comm system was still humming. Deciding that the only way to solve the mystery was to answer the call, the Doctor jogged around the central control panel of the TARDIS and laid his palm on the identification surface. Lights flashed, and a screen unused of uncounted years came alive in a maelstrom of swirling colours.

"Come to me, old friend," a female voice said quietly. "I'm in need of your help and trapped here. I cannot seek you out. I hope you can still travel through space and time to find me."

With that, the contact was broken and the screen went blank again. The caller hadn't identified herself; but there was no need for that. The TARDIS had already analysed the energy signature of the message and identified it as Lantean. Therefore the woman could only be Othara. He hadn't had any other personal friends among the Lanteans.

Nor would any other Lantean, were they still around in physical form, ask him for help or admit any other weakness. Lanteans – once the primary species of Earth and the greatest power in two galaxies – had been the only other race every bit as arrogant as the Time Lords… or even more so. The only other species of his knowledge that had developed at least some primitive form of time travel – ten thousand years back in linear time, in a small galaxy of the local cluster, where they'd had their last foothold.

The Doctor had no doubt that the Lanteans could have figured out the intricacies of full-fledged time travel, had they been truly interested in it. Aside from a few eccentric scientists, however, they had not. They had been too busy playing God, sowing life based on their own genetic make-up on countless planets in two galaxies. Then, after they'd accidentally created a terrible enemy that had gown too strong for them, they'd been too busy creating bigger stronger, more lethal weapons after ever defeat.

And when all that hadn't worked, they'd chosen the easy way out: the somewhat forced evolutionary process called the Ascension. They'd simply shed their physical form and became beings of pure energy, existing in a different dimension. Leaving their progeny behind, without help, without protection.

There had been very few who'd opposed. The Doctor had only met two of those: the exuberant young scientist Janus, the only one who'd been working on building his own time Machine, in the hope to create a way to beat their enemy. And Othara, a beautiful and passionate female warrior, a devoted advocate of the younger people, who'd strongly opposed abandoning them.

In some ways Othara had reminded him of Romanadvoratrelundar – or Romana, as she had been called for the sake of easier communication – the only other member of his race (aside from Susan) who'd ever travelled with him. Of the first version of Romana, that is. They'd been both brilliant, arrogant, beautiful and strong-willed ladies who knew exactly what they wanted and hadn't been afraid to go for it.

When Romana had regenerated in the likeness of Princess Astra after they'd completed the Key of Time, she'd lost much of her edge and her classic beauty. In his fourth incarnation, the Doctor had found the moon-faced schoolgirl type more attractive (although, if Rose was any indication, he probably still did), and for a while they'd had a more… intimate relationship. In all things that mattered.

Humans – even human companions – seemed to think that Time Lords were completely asexual beings, incapable of any passionate feelings, who procreated via test tubes and InVitro fertilization. That was not entirely true. Granted, they rarely returned the infatuation of their short-lived companions, human or otherwise, but relationships with fellow Time Lords were a different matter entirely.

In many ways, Romana had been the ideal companion for him – being of the same race and comparable intelligence, sharing his very long life expectance (save from the occasional regeneration), driven by similar goals. Which was the main problem, actually. Time Lords weren't – well, hadn't been, he corrected himself sadly – only generally arrogant. They'd also been very territorial. Two Time Lords boarding the same TARDIS (unless they were close family) meant a disaster begging to happen.

And thus the only companion who could have remained with him had left him, too, to forge her own that in the parallel universe of E-space. What was it with women leaving him to go to parallel dimensions anyway? Well, at least Othara had to be in the same dimension, since she'd managed to call him via the ancient comm system.

Which brought up an endless row of new questions. In their physical form, Lanteans hadn't been supposed to live for millennia – and it had been ten thousand years, not for him, but in linear time, of course – that he'd last met Othara. The TARDIS had picked up a disturbance in the flow of time, and he – well, his fourth incarnation, that is – had decided to investigate. He, Adric and Romana had travelled to the Pegasus galaxy, just after they'd returned from E-space, and found the source of the time disturbance on the besieged city-ship of Atlantis, inhabited by the last handful of Lanteans.

For a human, it would sound unbelievable that someone could remember events that had happened ten thousand years earlier. But for him, it had only happened some twenty-plus years ago. And for a Time Lord, two or three decades were but a wink of an eye.

Sure, he didn't remember everything from those two and a half decades of his own linear timeline. He'd lived through traumatic events – and traumatic regenerations – during that period. But the Lanteans had been a remarkable people. Remarkably powerful, remarkably stubborn… and remarkably foolish and selfish in some matters. Yes, there had been disturbing similarities with his own people.

Including the tragic similarity of their whole kind getting more or less extinct. There might have been some survivors, just as he had survived the Time War, but there couldn't be many of them left.

Still, the fact that Othara seemed to be one of those surprised him. Lanteans had about twice the life span their progeny, ordinary Earth humans of the twenty-first century would have. And they aged very slowly, showing subtle sings of aging only around the end of their lives – a trait that gave them the illusion of eternal youth. But that was an illusion, as they were, in their physical form, every bit as mortal and vulnerable as modern-day humans.

Perhaps even more so, as they'd come to depend on their advanced technology a little too much… another thing they shared with the majority of the Time Lords. The Doctor freely admitted that he, too, had been, at times, mislead by his somewhat egocentric sense of unstoppability when facing his enemies. Sometimes with serious consequences. Martha had called it his "god complex".

So, how had Othara survived? She'd been a warrior, one who'd preferred to confront the enemy openly, and therefore even more endangered than anyone else on their besieged city-ship. Besides, hadn't they all planned to return to Earth? Had she Ascended with the majority of her kind, or had she made use of Janus' experiment and fled into the far future?

Those were questions he couldn't answer on his own, of course. The only thing he could do was to follow the call and ask Othara in person. He had the means to do so; the TARDIS had already tracked the call back through hyperspace and provided him with the coordinates of the planet from which the distress call had originated.

It was not Lantea; that much he could already determine. Did this mean the Lanteans had lost the long war with the Wraith and were now hiding on obscure little planets, hoping that their enemy wouldn't find them? Could the war still be going on, perhaps on a much smaller scale, even after then thousand years?

That seemed unlikely… but couldn't be completely ruled out, either. But if it was so, what could Othara possibly help from him? He couldn't interfere with the outcome of their war any more than he'd have been able during his first visit in the Pegasus galaxy. He might be willing to bend the rules a little from time to time, for the sake of those who were in mortal danger, but committing genocide on behalf of someone else didn't fall into that category.

Even if he'd have the means to do so, which was by no means certain. The Lanteans had possessed advanced technology that rivalled his own (and most certainly more advanced weaponry than he'd ever had the misfortune to run across), and yet the Wraith had beaten them, soundly and repeatedly. What could a sole Time Lord with an unarmed TARDIS do against such a foe?

He only hoped that Othara would understand the limitations he was still subject to, even in his current, more ruthless and dangerous incarnation. That she didn't expect him to break the time laws; to manipulate the timelines or anything of that sort. He'd have hated to severe ties with such an old friend… acquaintance... whatever. He didn't have many of those left.

In any case, he owed Othara at least a visit, to find out what she actually wanted his help with. It wasn't so that he'd have anything better to do at the moment. And it would be nice to see someone from his past again. That happened way too infrequently.

"Well, old girl," he said to the TARDIS softly, speaking in Gallifreyan and mildly shocked how difficult it was to remember the words in his mother tongue that he hadn't spoken for so long. "What do you think? Fancy another trip to the Pegasus galaxy? It's been a long time since we last paid a visit that area."

The TARDIS hummed around him – and within his mind – in happy excitement. She'd been dully unresponsive for a while – one could almost think she'd been pouting. Perhaps she'd been bored. They hadn't done anything noteworthy since having towed Earth back into orbit, after the final defeat of the Daleks. They hadn't gone to places; no-one had come aboard since the departure of his ex-companions… Yeah, it was possible that the TARDIS had been bored. She liked people, she liked travelling, and watching him brood day in, day out couldn't have been very entertaining.

But now she was humming with expectation, and the Doctor felt her excitement rub off on him. Whistling under his breath, he adjusted the controls and plotted the course to the Pegasus galaxy.

Whatever the reason for Othara's call might have been, it was time to become active again.

~TBC~


	4. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know the technobabble is most likely rubbish. But this is a story, not a technical manual. The whole thing is only important to help the plot move along.

The place where the TARDIS materialized was a beautiful one: a small village on some rural planet, on the bank of a seemingly endless, quiet lake that stretched beyond eyesight on the outskirts of an enormous mountain, the peak of which was lost in the clouds. The whole neighbourhood had an air of undisturbed peace about it, as it only happened to worlds where the industrial revolution hadn't arrived yet.

The cottages were made of strong wooden beams and covered with straw or reed, by the sight of them. Matching the subtropical climate, they were widely open, with woven reed mats serving as walls. Even those only reached as high as the top of an average man's head would, though, allowing the light breeze to blow through the rooms unhindered.

Some of the cottages had even been built in the lake, upon huge wooden pillars that had been rammed into the bottom of it. But even in those, life seemed to be going on outside the house; either on the hard-trampled soil or on the wide wooden platforms attached to the cottages that stood in the shallow coastal waters. Potters threw their wheels, weavers worked on their looms, spinstresses sat at their distaff… all under the open sky, in front of their cottages, chatting amiably with each other and laughing frequently.

Upon the lake, fishing boats made of tightly bundled reed zigzagged on the water surface. Stocky, semi-naked fishermen with a strong resemblance of Earth's Polynesian population manipulated the sails, pulled in the nets and were generally having a good time, if their booming laughter was any indication.

In the middle of the small settlement was something akin a marketplace, and everyone not otherwise occupied seemed to spend their time there. There was little to no difference between them clothing-wise. The men were all naked to the waist, their only piece of clothing being elaborate loincloths similar to the Hawaiian lava-lavas. They wore beautifully made collars, of animal teeth, seashells and brightly coloured feather.

The women dressed similarly: in colourful skirts that reached between ankle and mid-calf, depending on age and personal preferences, and a tank top of the same fabric. They, too, had the same natural jewellery as the men, although they tended more to seashells and glass beads than to fangs and feathers. Both genders seemed to be fond of tattoos; the ones decorating their backs, chests and upper arms would have been considered the highest art in certain cultural niches on Earth.

The only ones standing out of the small crowd (in the fashion sense at least) were a few men, wearing red robes cut like monks' cowls. They also seemed to belong to a different people, with a more slender build and much fairer complexion. One of them, a fairly young man, took off immediately, running with respectable speed in that ridiculously impractical garment, as soon as they spotted the TARDIS.

The others kept respectful distance, as if they'd known what the TARDIS was… or, at least had expected her arrival. Perhaps Othara had told them what to look out for, without giving them any detailed explanation. These people were not Lanteans; that much was certain. At least not the villagers – they clearly belonged to a wholly different subspecies.

The red-garbed monks (if they were monks, that is) could have been from the Lantean stock, by the looks of them, but most certainly no longer of the same highly advanced knowledge. This world was either hopelessly pre-industrial or brilliantly post-industrial. Either way, the Doctor could se no sign of Lantean technology, not even in the form of abandoned, broken pieces.

After a moment of hesitation – either his looks or his clothes must have made them a little uncertain; perhaps they didn't get foreign visitors that often – one of the monks stepped forward and pressed his fists together as a sign of greeting. Or that of his peaceful intentions. Or both. Whatever.

"Welcome to Proculus," he said in a light, pleasant voice. "I'm Zarah, senior abbot of the Temple of Athar. Are you the one they call the Doctor in foreign countries?"

The question – especially the phrasing of it – surprised the Doctor a little. But he soon realised that Othara must have given some details if she wanted her people to pick the right person. Apparently, she was known as Athar here, which could have been a false spelling of her true name, but… the Temple of Athar? Was she worshipped here like some kind of goddess? Well, compared with the simple folk living on this planet she probably seemed like one. Still, the mere idea of it left a bad aftertaste in the Doctor's mouth.

"I am the Doctor, yes," he replied. "But who is Athar?"

"She is the earth mother, the protector of all," the monk – no, abbot – replied simply. "She blesses the plants that feed us with growth and sends the right weather, so that we can have a rich harvest at the end of our work on the fields. She protects us from all dangers that might come from the outside and teaches us how to live a simple and content life. Her love and strength extends to all beings who set foot on this world, and she's always with us… even now."

"Glory to Athar," the other monks murmured in unison and kissed their pressed-together thumbs.

"And you… you serve her?" the Doctor asked warily. "Is that why you all wear these distinctive robes?"

"Our brotherhood interprets and meditates Athar's teachings," Zarah explained readily enough. "We live together in the monastery, we work together on the fields, we learn, we meditate and we teach everyone who wishes to learn. We also take in the orphaned children – thankfully, there aren't many of those, but there are always a few; I used to be one of them myself – and raise them together, teaching them what we've already learned and understood. Some of them join the brotherhood, others do not. It's their choice. The garment only symbolises the fact that we are all equals."

"And yet you call yourself the senior of them," the Doctor said.

Zarah laughed. "Which only means that I'm the oldest of us."

"You don't seem old enough for that," the Doctor said with a frown.

"True," Zarah replied. "But the older ones are no longer with us. They've reached the level at which one receives the Call – and they chose to follow it. All of them. It's a rare thing that a whole generation would be Called and leaving together, but it happens sometimes."

"Where have they been Called?" the Doctor asked, thoroughly confused now.

"To the Cloister," Zarah explained. "It's a far-away place, and no-one knows how to get there, until they're Called. But come with us; Chaya Sar will explain you everything."

"Who's Chaya Sar?" the Doctor's confusion grew proportionally to his impatience.

"She's the high priestess of Athar," Zarah answered simply. "She already has been informed about your arrival. She's expecting you."

Not really knowing which role Othara was actually playing in this, the Doctor decided to accept the invitation. He sealed the TARDIS and set the remote call, so that the ship could follow his path via sensors and come to pick him up when needed. Then he followed Zarah and the other abbots across a wide field of crops to where Athar's temple supposedly stood.

The so-called Temple of Athar turned out to be a spacious villa (or perhaps a small stone fortress) in the middle of a tropical garden full of large, ancient palm trees. A narrow path led through the garden to a steep, equally narrow stairway, on top of which a young woman was standing, wearing a long white gown of a much more conservative cut than the women in the village.

He recognized her at once; she didn't seem to have changed a day in what for her must have been ten thousand years. She was still young, smooth-faced and serenely beautiful, just like the last time they'd met. She descended the stairs and extended both hands towards him.

"Old friend," she said in that deceivingly gentle voice of hers. "It is good to see you again. I was not certain that my call would reach you at all. You could have been anywhere… or anywhen."

"I could, yes," he admitted. "It seems, though, that I can't get away from contemporary Earth for too long."

"Earth," she repeated thoughtfully. "It seems to be the key to so many things, doesn't it? But do come in – we have much to discuss and so little time to do so." She looked at Zarah and his brethren. "You may rest now, my friends. Your work here is done."

"Thank you, sister," Zarah bowed and left, the others following him.

Othara led the Doctor into the house that had even more in common with a Romanesque villa in the inside and had him sit in the equivalent of the atrium.

"You must be tired after your long journey," she said. "Shall I prepare some tea for us? Last time you seemed to enjoy our blend very much."

He was equally surprised and delighted that she'd still remember his preferences, after all that time.

"You've changed," she commented softly, setting the tea cup in front of him on the marble-plated table. "And not just on the outside. How many deaths have you had during those millennia?"

"Five," he replied simply. "But for me, only some twenty-plus years have gone by. I was actually visiting the past when I last met you."

"Five deaths in such a short time," she said thoughtfully. "Those must have been violent years. Small wonder you've changed so much. A shame. I quite liked your former self."

"I get that a lot lately," he commented with a touch of bitterness.

She smiled at him in fond remembrance. "I thought you were cute, back then… all wide-eyed and curly-headed and so easily excited. So… so young. You used to be a lot like Janus, actually. Perhaps that's why the two of you understood each other so well."

The Doctor remembered the young Lantean scientist and he smiled fondly, too. Yes, Janus had been a very likeable person, and yes, they'd gotten around splendidly. He'd considered to invite Janus to travel with him through time – after all, hadn't that been the boldest dream of the young Lantean? But Janus refused the offer, wanting to finish his own research about time travelling, despite the misgivings of the council members.

He wondered what had become of him.

"He returned to Earth with the others," Othara said, as if reading his thoughts. Perhaps she had. Lanteans sometimes developed strange mental powers.

"And what about you?" he asked. "You haven't changed at all."

She laughed in a heartbreakingly melancholic way. "Oh, but I have. More than you can possibly imagine. What you can see is but a memory of the person I once was."

"I see," he said. "You've Ascended, then?"

She nodded. "Yes, I have. It seemed the better solution at that time."

"So, what's gone wrong?" he asked. "Because you don't seem very happy with that solution now."

"I'm not," she admitted. "When we Ascend, we're supposed to leave behind us all human ties…"

"… and you found that difficult," he finished for her.

She nodded. "You see, this planet was my home, while I was still a mortal. I used to live here – my entire family had lived there for thousands of years. We used to guide and protect the natives whose life our forebears had sown into the very earth of this world. And when the Wraith fleet appeared in high orbit…"

"… you couldn't let them destroy everything," the Doctor finally understood. "You couldn't let them wipe out your people."

She nodded again, her beautiful eyes burning with long-forgotten passion. For a moment, she was a warrior again; a warrior and a protector, with more than enough power to her disposal to do a thorough job.

"I lashed out with my mind, and with a single thought, I destroyed them all," she said, without the slightest trace of regret in her voice.

"I suppose that didn't bode well with the others of your kind," the Doctor guessed.

She shook her head. "They did not – well, they still don't – approve of such interference in corporeal matters, as the few of us who had dared to rise against the rule had to learn the hard way."

The Doctor remembered his own trial and his exile on Earth. His heart went out for her, even though the enormity of what she'd done in order to protect her people had shaken him.

"They exiled you, didn't they?" he asked. She nodded.

"My punishment was – it still is – the unending protection of this world.

"Well, that shouldn't be so harsh," he said. "After all, wasn't it the very thing you wanted to do?"

She looked at him sadly, and now her eyes were dark and haunted, full of despair.

"You don't understand," she murmured. "I'm permitted to safeguard my people, yes, but my people only. This is what makes it punishment. If other people came here for my protection, the Others would stop me. I've been forced to watch the Wraith ravage an entire galaxy for ten millennia and couldn't do anything about it. The Others wouldn't allow it."

"Why not?" he asked, flabbergasted. "It's genocide, and they simply lean back and watch it unfold?"

She sighed, defeat clearly written in her eternally young face. "Their highest law is to never interfere," she said. "I'm bound by those laws, however much I'd wish to do something."

"Some laws are there to be broken, regardless of the consequences," he said darkly.

"That was what Orlin thought, one of my fellow rebels," she answered, her eyes clouding with sorrow. "Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one to bear the consequences. The Others wiped out the entire planet he was trying to help. Admittedly, the people of Velona were just about to enslave another world with the help of the weapon he'd helped them to create as a protection against the Goa'uld, but still…"

"So, not only watching genocide unfold, they also commit it themselves?" the Doctor raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "I must admit, I'm less and less impressed with this new, supposedly improved version of your people."

"You're not the only one," she replied bitterly. "The people of Earth have a matching expression for it: Absolute power corrupts absolutely. But whatever we might think about them, they have methods to enforce their laws. Terrible methods. I don't want my people to be subjected to those methods. They're good, decent people; simple perhaps, but worth being protected."

"So, what has changed?" he asked. "You've been watching this scenario for ten thousand years. Why contact me now?"

"There's been a potentially lethal change in the balance of power… such as it was to begin with," she explained. "Until now, only a small percent of the Wraith was awake and active at any given time. The majority lay in the bellies of their huge hive ships, hibernating, because otherwise they'd have killed off the whole population of this galaxy. They travelled from planet to planet like locusts, culling out their herds, as they called it, but there were decades, sometimes centuries before they'd return to the same world. The population would have ample time to recover and grow again."

"But no longer?" he trailed off, fearing the answer already.

She shook her head. "No, no longer. Two years ago, they've awakened, hive after hive, and now they're all over the galaxy."

For a moment, they remained silent, contemplating the horrors of thousands of vampiric creatures falling over every unprotected planet – practically every planet aside from Proculus – in the entire galaxy.

"What happened?" the Doctor finally asked.

"Our Children grew up and came to claim their heritage," she answered with a weary sigh. "Unfortunately, they'd been unaware of what they'd find."

He frowned. "I cannot follow you. Details, please?"

"Two years ago, a group of Earth humans arrived through the Stargate, seeking for Atlantis," she explained. "They hoped to find technology, weapons even, that would aid them in their fight against an alien threat, back in their – in our – home galaxy. They found the Wraith instead, got captured, and one of their leaders killed the Keeper of a hive ship to free his people."

"And that was bad because…?" the Doctor still didn1t see the problem.

"The Wraith are a telepathic species with a hive mind," she explained. "The death of the Keeper sent a distress call across the entire galaxy – females are rare, but they've got fearsome mental powers – and the hibernating Wraith started to wake up everywhere."

"But you can still protect your folk, can't you?" he asked.

She shrugged helplessly. "I'm not certain. I can take out a small fleet, but all of them together? I doubt it. Without the interaction with the Others, my powers have slowly diminished during those endless millennia. The Wraith, on the other hand, have grown stronger."

"Do you believe they'd come here?" the Doctor doubted it. "Isn't this planet too small, too insignificant for them?"

"It is," she admitted readily, "but I am still here, and I'm still a threat for them. They've got long memories and don't like potential threats. But even if they wouldn't come here, the status quo has changed drastically. If they manage to conquer Atlantis, they'd find a way to Earth… Can you imagine what thousands of hungry Wraith can do on such a densely populated planet? I would be a slaughterhouse!"

Oh, yes, the Doctor could imagine that. The thought made him shudder.

"So, what is your plan then?" he asked. "What do you want my help with? I doubt that the Others would tolerate my interference, even if I had the weapons to wipe out the Wraith. Which I haven't."

"I know," she said, "and I wouldn't ask you anything like that. I know how you think about violence."

"Well, I am a lot less merciful than I used to be," he admitted, "but even so, full-scale genocide isn't something I'd do easily. Even if I had the means."

"Nor would I ask you anything that would go against your true nature," she said. "What I need you for is to help me find a certain person – or certain persons, although I doubt that there would be many of them – who can face the Wraith threat with some hope to win."

"And where am I supposed to look for them?" he asked doubtfully.

"On Earth," she replied. "I can't leave this planet, and even if I could, where would I begin? Who would even talk to me? You, on the other hand, have always had ties to important people and organizations on Earth. I'm certain you can organize a planet-wide search, if necessary."

"Perhaps," he allowed, thinking of UNIT and Torchwood and his contacts in both organizations. "What kind of person do you need me to find, then?"

"One with the genetic make-up of Janus," she answered, "or the closest match possible. One of his descendants."

The Doctor stared at her incredulously. "You gotta be kidding! That's impossible! How am I supposed to find someone descended from a specific Lantean, after then thousand years? Even if your people had intermarried with humans after their return, any genetic traits would long have vanished from the make-up of the general population."

"No, they haven't," she said. "I've got proof that my people had left their genetic stamp on modern-day humans. A small percentage of them are still in possession of a very specific Lantean gene: the one encoded in our technology. Some of them can operate our tech… all of it."

"Even the ships and the weaponry?" he asked in shock, because as fond as he was of the human race (most of the time anyway), the thought of them having control over that kind of power positively frightened him. Not for himself – for them.

"Everything," Othara assured him. "Which is, frankly, not very reassuring. It was only last year that they destroyed an entire solar system – thankfully an uninhabited one – while trying to make a weapon my folk have long given up work again."

"And you still want to give them even more control over your technology?" he asked with a frown. She nodded.

"That is the only way to stop the Wraith. I can't do it, you can't do it, the Others won't do it. So we'll have to give the Children the means to do it."

"By giving them even bigger weapons?" the Doctor's tone was disapproving, but Othara didn't seem to care.

"Not in general," she said. "Right after your visit to Atlantis, while still working on his time machine, Janus also turned back to his previous research regarding sentient technology. Our scientists had experimented with that for centuries already, back in our home galaxy, but when the majority chose to Ascend the research was abandoned. Right now, Atlantis is the only city-ship that has been considerably changed."

"You mean she's sentient?" the Doctor switched to the feminine pronoun unconsciously; sentient ships, like the TARDIS, had always been referred to as a she.

"Not yet," Othara replied. "The research was completed, but the artificial intelligence hasn't been initialised yet. Atlantis has the potential to become sentient, but she needs a… well, a wake-up call."

"Someone with her creator's genetic make-up," he guessed. "Just like a newborn TARDIS needs to bond with a Time Lord to become fully functional, right?"

Othara nodded. "Something similar, yes. Only Janus had built-in safeguards in the AI system. Merely possessing the gene that enables one to use any other piece of Lantean technology wouldn't be enough. He encoded Atlantis with his own unique genetic structure."

"And you really think we could find a close enough match, after ten thousand years?" the Doctor shook his head doubtfully. She shrugged.

"We'll have to try. That's the only chance for the people of the Pegasus galaxy – and perhaps for the survival of Earth itself, too. We can't allow the Wraith to spill into another galaxy, after they've razed this one completely."

"Won't the Others stop you… stop us?" he asked. "Or, at the very least, try?"

"They can't," Othara's grin was positively gleeful. "They're not allowed to interfere. Janus never Ascended, and I won't do anything, aside from sharing my knowledge with you. Knowledge about Earth, about their exploratory program, about the Wraith… all things that you could learn without my help, too. I'm just making the learning process a little faster, that's all."

"You've got a data crystal for me?" he hoped the technology would be compatible with that of the TARDIS. It was always a risky thing. But she shook her head.

"No. Recorded information can be stolen; we cannot take that risk with this. No, I'll imprint everything directly into your mind – if you'll grant me access, that is,"

He hesitated for a moment. Poking around in one's memory, uploading huge amounts of information, could be dangerous, as poor Donna's example had shown. But he was no mere human. The brain capacity of a Time Lord was capable of handling such things. In theory anyway.

"Very well," he finally said. "Just be careful, will you?"

She nodded, smiled… and began to glow from the inside with a beautiful, white-gold light. The outline of her body became blurred, then fluid, and then she turned into a creature of pure energy. Her tendrils wrapped themselves around him until her energy engulfed him completely, in a moment of almost suffocating intimacy; and then he could feel her in his mind, sharing with him everything she'd learned from a human named Sheppard about the Stargate program, about the Atlantis expedition, about Earth's ongoing struggle against the Goa'uld and other enemies. She told him everything she knew about the Wraith and about Janus' experiments. As the last, most important piece of information, she imprinted the specific genetic structure he needed to search for into his memory.

When she was done, she gradually withdrew, leaving him strangely empty and bereft, and rearranged her human disguise, that of the beautiful young woman. But now that he'd seen the sheer unbearable beauty of her true form, he found the body she wore but a pale shadow.

"I… could get used to this," he admitted.

"You shouldn't," she replied seriously. "It could become… addictive, if experienced too often. But you're welcome to pay me a visit from time to time, if you'd like. It's not so as if I'd leave this place any time, soon, Not as long as the Universe lasts, most likely."

"That's a disturbing thought," he said. "But perhaps I will drop in sometimes – after we've solved the Wraith crisis, that is."

She gave him a brilliant smile that almost matched the brightness of her true form.

"I knew I could count on you," she said.

"There's nothing like purpose to battle loneliness," he replied airily, but she could hear the serious undertone of that seemingly light-hearted remark.

"Purpose and an ally," she answered in the same semi-light tone, and they exchanged wistful smiles.

"I'll better be going," the Doctor then said. "Finding one specific person among six billion is gonna take some time."

"Well, that's why I've hired a Time Lord for the joy," she teased; it felt so unspeakably good to be able to do so, with someone who was her equal, without playing her millennia-old role. It almost made her feel young again.

The Doctor grinned at her, almost manically. "That," he declared, "was the worst pun I've heard in this incarnation. And given that I've socialised with Jack Harkness repeatedly in the recent years, that's saying a lot. I love it."

"You seem to have kept something of your old self, after all," she said softly. "I'm glad to see it. Now, get going. I hope to see you again, soon."

"I'll do my best," he promised. It was an interesting errand; different from his usual missions, but at least it would bring him back to Earth. Sometimes he had the feeling he'd grown unproportionally fond of that backward little planet and its belligerent inhabitants.

But again, hadn't Othara said that Earth was the key to so many things? And she'd been right. So he had to go, to find a human being whose genetic make-up would hopefully save the future of two galaxies.

Life could be extraordinarily strange sometimes. But now he had a purpose and an ally again, and perhaps his own future looked just a little less bleak at the moment.

~TBC~


	5. Sought and Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I don't accept "Children of Earth" as part of the Torchwood canon, even though I use some background elements from the miniseries. So don't be surprised if those elements are used in a different context.
> 
> Timeline-wise this chapter takes place shortly after the DW episodes "The Stolen Earth/Journey's End" and contains hints at those episodes. Nothing major, though, so if you haven't seen them, you won't be missing anything.
> 
> Warning: Like all my stories, this isn't friendly to Gwen Cooper. But that's how I see the character, and no amount of arguments or re-watching the two existing seasons of Torchwood will ever change my opinion about her. So, if you are a fan of the character, you might not want to read this. It's up to you.
> 
> Acknowledgement: My heartfelt thanks to dannyboi621 for providing the Doctor's funniest lines.

Captain Jack Harkness, fearless leader of the tragically decimated Torchwood Three, was having a lousy day. No, make that a lousy week… or a lousy couple of weeks. Actually, he hadn't had a good day since the reappearance of his long-lost brother and the subsequent demolition of his hand-picked team. The losses had been too heavy, too… personal in the recent years. Add the fact that he'd been buried alive for almost two millennia by his insane brother – who'd blamed him for all the horrors he'd had to experience in his life – and one really shouldn't be surprised that Jack was growing restless lately.

He'd lived in Cardiff for more than a century – linear time – and the place had grown on him. He'd created a dysfunctional little family of outcasts and broken people here, and it seemed to work somehow, surprisingly enough, for each of them. For a while, the Hub had been something like a home for him.

Until Toshiko and Owen got killed. Losing Suzie had been bad enough; even though she'd been more than a little bit of a psychopath, she'd been one of them, and he'd hoped till the last moment that he would be able to save her. Sadly, he'd failed – and although it hadn't been his fault, having to kill Suzie – repeatedly – had hit him hard.

Suzie's betrayal and death had been the reason why he'd fought so hard to save Ianto (mostly from himself) after the Cyberwoman incident. The young man's despair and loss were something he could relate to all too well. And losing another member of his team, so soon after Suzie, would have been too much to bear. Especially as he couldn't choose the ultimate way out – he couldn't kill himself when staying alive became too much.

Immortality was a bitch, really.

That he and Ianto had found an unexpected closeness afterwards was a gift he hadn't hoped for; but he'd taken it gladly. After all, it was only fair that Fate would show him at least some kindness from time to time.

Right now, he couldn't count on Ianto's moral support, though. The young Welshman had asked for a day off to visit his sister and her family, as it was the birthday of his little niece. Jack was glad that Ianto was getting closer to his family again – they all needed some normalcy in their lives desperately – and had granted him the day off. With all the late hours Ianto regularly worked (now more so than ever, as there were only the three of them) he had at least two months' worth of accumulated leave, aside from the regular days. Not that he'd take much of it anyway. He was one of the worst workaholics Jack had ever seen. Only Tosh and Suzie had ever come close.

That left Jack with Gwen and her teary-eyed demands to be comforted… which had begun to tire him out, big time. As much as he loved Gwen – and he really did love her, just not the way she perhaps wanted him to do – her desire to be the centre of attention all the time, her tendency to overdone dramatics was slowly getting on his nerves. She behaved as if her loss would have been the only one… or, at the very least, the only important one.

Never mind that Ianto had been close friends with Tosh and suffered from her loss perhaps more than either of them. He already had too many such losses in his young life, and his quiet, understated grief was heartbreaking to watch. More so as he tried to support everyone else at the same time, especially Jack.

Never mind that Jack himself saw Tosh as the little sister he never had, and Owen had become something of a prodigal son for him. His grief – or Ianto's, for that matter – apparently wasn't half as important as that of their Little Miss Sensitive, who really could put the drama into the drama queen sometimes.

Granted, Jack had Ianto to turn to for comfort. But Gwen had Rhys, didn't she? Hadn't she told them repeatedly that she was the only one to have a life outside of Torchwood and that that life came first? So why did she expect from everyone to comfort her, while she was the one who'd known Tosh and Owen for the shortest time? Hell, she hadn't even liked Tosh! She'd treated Tosh in a condescending manner that would make any other woman slap her silly several times.

Jack knew he was being unfair with Gwen – after all, she'd come to Torchwood in blissful ignorance; hadn't had the harsh experiences the others had. But she'd been with them for two years, for God's sake! Hadn't she really learned anything? She was supposed to bring more heart and humanity to Torchwood – that was what she'd been hired for. Why couldn't she show some of those qualities (if, indeed, she'd possessed them in the first place) and leave the others grieve in peace?

Jack's annoyance with her had been building up for days already – for weeks perhaps – and he knew it was only a matter of time before he'd explode right into her face. Especially without Ianto's calming presence (and coffee) in the background. He'd really become a little too dependant on Ianto and his coffee-making wizardry, he admitted ruefully, but right now, he couldn't care less. If Gwen started to pressure him about sharing their feelings considering the deaths of Tosh and Owen, he couldn't guarantee that things would not get very ugly very quickly. He'd reached the limit of his endurance.

Fortunately, the stale boredom of the Hub was interrupted by an eerily familiar noise before Gwen could have launched today's little bonding session. It was a strange, grinding and wheezing noise only one thing in the known Universe could make. Startled by it, Gwen came running into the main Hub area, demanding to know what it was, if it was dangerous, if it had anything to do with the Rift, and what was Jack going to do about it.

But Jack didn't even listen to her. He was grinning like a loon, watching the old-fashioned blue police box materialise in the middle of the Hub.

Deeply offended by the fact that Jack so obviously ignored her, Gwen turned to see what he was grinning at. She recognized the police box, of course, even though they'd long fallen out of use by the police forces; and, since the recent clash with the Daleks, she also understood its significance. Her first and so far only interaction with the Doctor had been restricted to watching a few rather unclear images on a screen, so she was now staring open-mouthedly at the lanky, loose-limbed man who bounced out of the police box and looked around in the Hub with almost child-like excitement.

The guy had a thin, animated, almost manic face, framed by tousled dark brown hair that looked as if he'd been in a tornado just recently (the term bed hair came to one's mind). He was wearing a brown suit with blue pinstripes, a hurriedly – and unevenly – buttoned shirt and a loose tie, a long, light brown overcoat and a pair of white trainers. His wide eyes were partially obscured by a pair of dark tortoiseshell rectangular frame glasses. He looked a little bit… well, frisky would have been perhaps the best word for it. Like an over-excited puppy. Still, there could be no doubt about his identity.

Even less so as Jack suddenly ran down the stars leading to his office and developed him in a bear hug that could have knocked anyone's ribs.

"Doctor!" he exclaimed, happier than Gwen had seen him since… well, since they'd lost Tosh and Owen. "What are you doing here?"

"Weeeell…" the elongated vowel was something Jack had known from earlier; it meant that the Doctor was obfuscating for some reason. "After the recent events, the TARDIS needed refuelling, and I thought what better place for that than the Rift… which made me possible to visit an old friend at the same time."

Jack just glared at him. The Doctor shrugged, more than a little embarrassed that his tactic hadn't worked. With Jack, it rarely did.

"Oh, all right," he admitted, his annoyance obvious. "I need your help. Happy now?"

"Happy? Yes. Surprised? No," Jack replied with a snort. "When have you ever contacted me, unless you needed my help? Wait, forget that; in fact, you never actually contacted me to begin with. After all, I'm all wrong, aren't I? A fixed point in time; something every good little Time Lord should avoid like the plague, right?"

"Are we re-heating old grudges again?" the Doctor asked mildly. "Because as sorry as I am about the whole affair, I really don't have time for that. I came to you because you're probably the one who can do this the fastest. But if you aren't willing, I can still give Martha a call and have UNIT do it."

"Don't you dare!" Gwen hissed, "Either of you! She's on her honeymoon…"

Jack ran a large hand through his already mussed hair and sighed.

"You know I'll help," he said. "Or else you wouldn't have come here in the first place. So, tell me what is it you need my help with."

In the meantime, Ianto Jones was sitting in the living room of his sister Rhiannon and the rest of the family, celebrating little Mica's birthday. He was so glad he'd asked Jack for this day off – the depressing atmosphere in the Hub was really getting to him. Besides, he truly loved his sister and her family.

Rhiannon could be a little nosy sometimes – he still remembered the day on which she'd drilled him about that gorgeous man, like a movie star, with whom he'd been seen by her friend Susan in that posh French restaurant – but at least she genuinely loved him, and would support him in anything. No matter what.

And Johnny, her big, beefy idiot of a husband, would do the same. Johnny could be a dick sometimes, and his gay jokes were getting really old, but he'd break the nose of anyone who'd as much as look at Ianto in a funny way. Not that Ianto would need him to do so – he could take care of himself well enough – but it was the sentiment that counted.

And Mica and Dafydd (the Welsh half of the family adamantly refused to call him David, because honestly, David Davies was the stupidest name one could imagine) were always delighted to see him. Granted, he always gave them some pocket money, but that wasn't the true reason. Dafydd shared his interest in that secret agent stuff, watching James Bond movies with him, and Mica, small though she was, already showed excellent computer skills and constantly nagged him to show her more tricks, as she called it.

They were family. Family that made him easier to bear the fact that he didn't have one of his own. Even if Jack and him broke up on the next day, he wouldn't want one; not without Lisa. That had been their shared dream. A dream that had died with Lisa at Canary Wharf.

A touch upon his arm woke him from his thoughts. He glanced up, right into Rhiannon's gentle, concerned face, and realised that Mica had blown out her candles and relocated to the kitchen with the cake, her Tad, and all the children who'd been invited to her birthday party. They were alone in the living room.

"Ianto, is something wrong?" Rhiannon asked. "You always seem so absent lately. Even though you come more often now, you never tell me anything. As if I'd done something wrong. I haven't though… have I?"

Ianto shook his head. "Oh, no, of course not. It's… it's my job. You know, we might joke about Torchwood being the best-known secret organisation in the UK – hell we even have the logo on the company car in foot-long letters! – but the truth is, we do deal with lots of confidential stuff. I'm not allowed to talk about it, Rhi – and you're better off not knowing, believe me."

"I do," she answered, "And I'm not really interested in your job, you know. I'm interested in your life."

"The two are pretty much the same, most of the time," Ianto admitted ruefully. "I even shag my boss, for God's sake! Were Tad still alive, he'd break my leg again, he'd be so ashamed of me."

"Ianto Jones, you're a daft sod, and you know it!" Rhiannon declared angrily. "Tad didn't break your leg with intention, and he wouldn't be ashamed of you. He didn't care what the neighbours would say when you brought Lisa home for the first time – and you know there was talk – and he wouldn't care that you're involved with your boss as long as he treated you well," she paused, then she asked carefully. "He does treat you well, though, doesn't he? You are happy, aren't you?"

Ianto nodded. "I am; never worry about that. After Lisa died, I was kind of… drifting. He caught me, gave me a purpose again…"

"And yet you seem so far away, deep in your thoughts lately," she said. "What happened?"

"You've heard about the bombings in Cardiff a couple of weeks ago?" Ianto asked. She nodded, and he continued, choosing the words very carefully, to make her understand, without giving away too much. The last thing he wanted was to Retcon his own sister. "We lost two people before things could be brought under control. One of them was my closest friend. She was a classy lady, and I miss her very much. Also, our team wasn't a big one to begin with. Now we have to do their work as well, until my boss hires new people. It's… it's a bit too much sometimes."

"Oh, Ianto!" she said, teary-eyed, and hugged her instinctively. "If you find it a bit much, it must be sheer overwhelming!"

"Sometimes it is," he admitted. "But sometimes I have the weird feeling that this isn't the end of it… that this is all only preparation."

"Preparation for what?" she asked, confused.

Ianto shrugged. "I don't know. But I have the feeling as if everything I've done, everything I've seen and gone through in my whole life, has served to prepare me for that which is coming."

"And that would be…?" Rhiannon asked with a frown. Ianto shrugged again.

"I haven't got a clue," he admitted. "It feels like something really big, though. Something waiting just beyond my reach, but drawing steadily closer."

"What does your boss say about it?" she asked, her eyes wide with fear.

"Nothing. I haven't told him about it yet," Ianto replied. "You're the first to whom I've spoken of it so far. Because you're my sister, and should anything happen to me, you ought to know that I've been waiting for it."

"Waiting for what?" Rhiannon insisted.

Ianto gave him one of those rare, beautifully shy smiles very few people had ever seen.

"I don't know," he repeated. "But it's getting closer. I can feel it."

Rhiannon shivered. "You're frightening me, Ianto. I'm not used to this kind of stuff."

"There's nothing to be afraid of," Ianto leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Everything will be all right."

"That's one of those famous last words," she warned, and Ianto laughed.

"True. But…" he couldn't finish the sentence because his mobile phone rank. "Ianto Jones. Yes, I'm still here. No, I can leave any time, no problem. Oh, don't make such a fuss about it; you can always give me another day off sometime later," he hung up and looked at Rhiannon. "I have to go, Rhi. Something work-related came up."

"You want me to help with what?" Jack Harkness couldn't quite believe his ears.

The Doctor shrugged. "Well, yes, I need your help to search through the entirety of your planet's population to find someone of direct descent from an old friend who came to this world ten millennia ago," he said it again. It was about the fourth time he repeated it, but Jack still couldn't wrap his mind around the idea of it.

"Ten… millennia ago," Jack echoed blandly, while Gwen was still doing her best blowfish impression: eyes opened so wide they nearly rolled off her skull, mouth hanging open. "I assume we're talking about linear time here?"

The Doctor nodded. "I know you're only nominally American, and UNIT has just established a presence in the overseas, but since you regularly talk to the PM about confidential matters…"

"Not with the current one," Jack interrupted. "He's a prick. Harriet Jones, now that was a PM we could work with… until you destroyed her career, that is."

"I had my reasons," the Doctor replied indignantly.

"You always have," Jack returned. "Whether they're always the right reasons is still up to debate, though… in my book anyway."

The Doctor rolled his expressive eyes. "Are we really going to re-heat all our old arguments? Can't you just tell me whether you've already heard of the Stargate project of the Americans or not?"

The fact that Jack suddenly became very quiet made an answer unnecessary.

"I see," the Doctor said. "Well, I thought that might be the case. After all, several British scientists are heavily involved in the project, and it has a lot to do with alien technology. It would make sense that Torchwood would be informed, at the very least; not to mention your notorious hang to figuring out things that aren't your business."

"Figure out what?" Gwen asked impatiently.

"To my shame, I must admit that I haven't figured out any of it on my own," Jack grinned. "Their chief geneticist used to do some freelance work for Torchwood Two, and Archie can be something of a chatterbox – if he's consumed enough Scotch."

"What have you figured out?" Gwen demanded. "Tell me, Jack!"

"I can't," Jack answered simply. "It's confidential."

"Tough shit," she said. "I'm Torchwood, just like you. And I've always been your confidant, haven't I?"

Jack diplomatically evaded a straight answer to that.

"You've never been theirs," was all he said; then he turned back to the Doctor. "So, how am I supposed to find a single person among six billion people?"

"By a planet-wide genetic search," the Doctor replied promptly, as if it had been the most natural thing in the universe. "We're looking for someone with a specific, fairly rare gene, and with a unique genetic make-up."

"Are you talking about the ATA gene?" Jack asked; seeing the Doctor's baffled expression, he grinned. "Archie's freelance geneticist was the one who discovered it."

"Jack!" Gwen nearly stomped with her foot in frustration. "What are you talking about? What's that for a gene?"

"One that mankind – well, a very small percentage of mankind anyway – had gained through an encounter with a certain alien race," the Doctor explained. "It happened…"

"… ten thousand years ago," Jack finished, the parts finally clicking into place. "Are we looking for a descendant of a particular Ancient, then?"

"Exactly!" the Doctor beamed at him like a proud teacher at a promising pupil.

"An ancient what?" Gwen was close to tears from sheer frustration.

"The Ancients were the first generation of humanoid life on Earth," the calm, precise voice of Ianto Jones answered, and their archivist stepped off the stone slab of the invisible lift, wearing an elegant three-piece suit, as always. "They eventually migrated to other planets, even to a different galaxy, until a plague nearly wiped them out. The handful of survivors returned to Earth ten thousand years ago, via a high-tech gateway called the Stargate, which makes instant travel between planets possible, and were assimilated by the human population," he gave them a bland smile. "Have I forgotten anything?"

The Doctor stared at him, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. "Fantastic!" he enthused. "How can you know so much about top secret stuff?"

Ianto shrugged. "As Jack would tell you, I know everything that has been ever filed away in Torchwood Three, since its foundation. Intel about the Stargate program comes from Archie's reports, though; the ones he'd sent to Torchwood London. I used to work there."

"Ianto is one of the few survivors of Canary Wharf," Jack supplied.

"Oh!" the Doctor's face fell. "I'm so sorry about what happened there…"

Ianto shrugged again. "It wasn't your fault," he stepped into the kitchenette. "I understand you prefer tea, Doctor? With two sugar, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Did my preferences stand in the files Torchwood One kept on me?" the Doctor asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"No," Ianto replied simply. "Jack told me about them," he glanced at his boss. "Sorry for the delay; I came as fast as I could, but traffic was being murderous. Do you need my help with anything else but being the teaboy, sir?"

"Well, I was hoping you'd have an idea how to narrow down our search," Jack answered pessimistically. "Six billion people on this planet; more than a half of them probably don't even have a medical file…"

"We can always start on the small scale and widen the search radius gradually," Ianto suggested, while putting on the tea kettle and then spooning freshly ground coffee into the coffee machine. "If I've understood you correctly, the ATA-gene and a specific genetic structure together are required for any candidate to match the search parameters, right?"

"Right," the Doctor said, still looking a little stunned.

"In that case," Ianto switched on the coffee machine, "we should start with the gene carriers the Stargate project has already found. Perhaps we get lucky."

"Mr. Jones," the Doctor declared in amazement, "you're absolutely awesome!"

"Just practical, Doctor," Ianto replied with a small, genuine smile. "It's necessary, if you look at the people I have to care for – and that doesn't even include the pterodactyl."

"Hey!" Gwen protested indignantly, but Jack laughed.

"Oh, come on, Gwen, you know he's right," he said. "Without him, this place would have drowned in chaos years ago. So, Ianto," he turned back to his archivist… butler… lover… whatever. "How are we supposed to run this search anyway?"

"Tosh had developed a search programme shortly before her death," Ianto reminded him. "The one that could hack itself into every secret database in a freakishly short time, if you remember."

"I do; but you'd need special passwords to start that," Jack pointed out.

Ianto looked at him blandly. "So?"

"Tosh didn't have the time to give me her passwords before she died," Jack explained.

"So?" Ianto repeated with the same bland face.

Jack frowned. "Are you telling me that you know her passwords and the codes to her secret projects?" he asked.

"Of course," Ianto replied simply. "I know everything that happens in here. I thought we've already established that fact."

"Wait, you mean Tosh gave her secret codes to you?" Gwen asked, not believing what she'd just heard. "Why would she do that? I am Jack's second in command; I should have been given that kind of information!"

Ianto shrugged. "Perhaps if you have tried to be her friend, instead of treating her like some poor loser, she'd have confided in you," he replied.

Gwen turned to Jack with a wide-eyed look full of hurt innocence. "Jaack, why is he saying such things?"

"You must admit he does have a legitimate point," Jack, having grown largely immune against the doe-eyed routine lately, answered.

"But Jack, I loved Tosh!" Gwen protested, getting more and more teary-eyed by the second.

"You sure as hell had an interesting way to show it," Ianto commented dryly. "Remember Owen? Tommy? The way you were patronising her all the time?"

"Stop the hair-pulling, children!" Jack interrupted, before Gwen could have replied. Ever since the loss of Tosh, Ianto had been uncharacteristically testy, and things could have turned ugly, if he was pushed too far. The last thing Jack wanted was having to break up a fight between the remaining two members of his team. Even if it was only a verbal one; Ianto's snarkiness usually wasn't the hurtful sort, but there had been exceptions. Jack didn't want either of them get hurt; not any more than they already had been.

"Calm down, the two of you," he repeated, studiously ignoring Ianto's belligerent look. Only he could see behind the young Welshman's usual blank mask, and he knew Ianto had been close to the edge lately. It was better to tread carefully around him. "Work to do here; checking out six billion people is quite the task, I'd say. Even if we start with the natural gene carriers that are already registered.

"Of course, sir; sorry, sir," Ianto was already typing away on what used to be Tosh's keyboard, starting the special software that would allow Mainframe to hack into the Stargate project's heavily protected database. "This might take some time. I'll serve coffee while the search program is running… or tea, alternatively, of course," he added, with a brief look in the Doctor's direction.

"Are we supposed to sit here around and do nothing?" Gwen asked accusingly.

Jack shrugged. "Mainframe is already running the search. What else could we do?"

"Well," Ianto pulled the handles of the coffee machine, working his caffeine magic as he pretended to think really hard, "we can always order takeout. I for my part am starving. You've called me back before my sister could have served dinner; I didn't even get to eat my piece of Mica's birthday cake."

"How can you think of eating when we're involved in such an important thing… I mean, it is important, isn't it?" Gwen asked the Doctor somewhat uncertainly.

"Oh, yes!" the Time Lord replied. "You could say that the fate of two galaxies depends on whether we find this person in time or not."

"The more reason to do something!" Gwen insisted.

Jack rolled his eyes in exasperation. "We're already doing all we can!" he reminded her. "What else would you have me to do?"

"We could start another search in our immediate neighbourhood," Gwen replied. "There are many old families in Wales itself; ancient ones whose roots reach back for centuries…"

"Centuries, perhaps, but not millennia," the Doctor said.

"Still, many bloodlines remained unchanged for a long time," Gwen pressed. "Like mine. Have you not said yourself that I was something special, because I come from an old Cardiff family?"

"Not quite," Ianto corrected. "He was speaking about spatial genetic multiplicity, if I'm not mistaken."

Gwen looked at him with a frown. "How can you remember all that gibberish so well?"

Ianto shrugged. "I remember everything that's ever done or said within the Hub. We were here at that time, weren't we?"

The Doctor beamed at him with the delight of a treasure hunter who'd accidentally stumbled over an untouched Egyptian grave. "You've got an eidetic memory, haven't you?"

"A photographic one, actually," Ianto replied. "It works best with things I've seen or read, but it's above average in the other areas, too. Comes handy when you're an archivist, really."

"Did Torchwood One give you any special training in this area?" the Doctor asked.

Ianto shook his head. "Nah, I was born that way."

"Of course, being over-organised and anal retentive does help things," Jack commented, grinning.

Ianto shot him a withering look. "Such comments would safely prevent you from getting anal with me in any form… sir," he replied sternly.

Gwen rolled her eyes. The Doctor blushed and seemed to fight the urge to cover his ears.

"Oookay, that was way too much information," he said hurriedly. "I think Ms Cooper is right, though. Jack, why don't we run a search on all Welsh families older than two hundred years? The Stargate project only checked people with a scientific or military background. Who know what's hidden in the Welsh countryside?"

"Bloody in-bred cannibals, for starters," Ianto muttered darkly. "Fairies. That sort of thing."

"What?!" the Doctor exclaimed in shock. Jack waved off his question dismissively.

"It's a long story, for another time," he said. "You can start a search if you want, of course. But you'll have to use one of the lesser computers in here. Mainframe is busy hacking through the SGC databases."

"I could connect one of those computers to my sonic screwdriver," the Doctor offered, while Ianto placed a cup of tea and a biscuit in front of him on the table, "and create a virtual interface with the board systems of the TARDIS. That should enhance the data output considerably."

Jack nodded, accepted his mug of coffee from Ianto with a smile. "That's a good idea. Let's give it a try. I'll help you, if Ianto can hold out without food just a little longer."

Ianto ignored the jibe with his best receptionist smile and sat back to Tosh's workstation to watch the search program, taking his own coffee with him. From then on, he was dead for the rest of the world, working with his usual intense concentration.

The Doctor and Jack took seats at what had once been Owen's station and did some insanely complicated technical wizardry to make the search Gwen had suggested possible. Basically, they were running the search parameters through every medical file ever saved in the internal networks of hospitals and doctor's practices, starting with Cardiff and steadily widening the radius.

Gwen powered up her own workstation, to do a search of her own… hoping to find the specific genetic marker somewhere in her own bloodline. Hers was a very old Cardiff family, wasn't it? Perhaps she was the person they were looking for, without knowing it. Perhaps that was the reason why she'd stumbled over Torchwood two years earlier. Perhaps it was all destiny.

Two hours later, the sonic screwdriver gave a loud, beeping sound, making Jack jump in his seat. "Is it supposed to do that?"

The Doctor wasn't even listening. He was staring at the computer screen, his eyebrows slowly climbing higher and higher, until they nearly got lost in his hair.

"Well, that was fast," he finally commented. "And quite unexpected, I'd say."

~TBC~


	6. The End of Torchwood Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've probably messed up the Dr. Who timeline here and there, but it doesn't really matter for the story itself.

"Are you telling me that Ianto is this one-among-billions person you've been looking for?" Gwen asked the Doctor in stunned disbelief. "But… but he isn't even from a particularly old family!"

"Yeah, but his mother was," Jack replied, eyeing the screen with Ianto's computer-generated family tree on it with interest. "Apparently, the genes were handed down the female line of the family, if these medical files are of any indication. The main search has shown a few other vague similarities, but Ianto is the closest possible match, short of being the exact genetic reincarnation of this… well, whoever this ancient alien used to be."

"You mean one of my maternal ancestors was actually an alien?" if possible, Ianto was even more dumbfolded by the news than Gwen.

"Define alien," the Doctor answered blithely. "Is Jack an alien, just because he was born in the far future on a distant planet? Were the Ancients aliens?"

"Well, they were… weren't they?" Gwen trailed off a little uncertainly.

The Doctor shook his head. "No. They were genetically identical with modern-day humans – at least in the beginning – originating from Earth. As Mr. Jones has just explained, they were the… the first edition of mankind, you could say. Which is why they were genetically compatible with humans. It's a lot harder than anyone would thing for the members of two different species to produce fertile offspring, even if they have common roots. Being the same genus won't be enough. Apparently, the Ancients hadn't changed too much during all those millennia. You still are the same species – although on different levels of your evolution.

"And this particular Ancient… the one I'm supposedly descended from… who was he anyway?" Ianto asked. The scientific explanation, even delivered in the Doctor's somewhat unorthodox manner, didn't seem to impress him at all. But again, after having worked for Torchwood for years, one was no loner so easily impressed.

"An old friend of mine, as I already said," the Doctor replied, "and one of his people's lead scientists. I've met him on one of my journeys, a long time ago. A very long time ago."

Gwen shot him a suspicious look. "Ten thousand years ago? Are you immortal like Jack?"

The Doctor visibly shuddered from the mere thought of that. "Oh, please!" he protested. "That would be against the very existence of a Time Lord! Besides, I'm not that old yet!"

"But you've just said that friend of yours had come back to Earth ten thousand years ago!" Gwen insisted.

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Really, when do you people finally learn that time isn't a linear journey from one point to the other?" he asked, looking at Jack as the only one who could at least hope to understand what he was talking about. "I've told you repeatedly that it's not. It's… it's a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey… stuff," he added somewhat lamely, forming an imaginary ball with his hands in a futile attempt to make himself understood… and failing.

Gwen stared at him with open-mouthed confusion. "Which means… what exactly?"

"It means that while it happened ten thousand years ago for the Ancient in question, it happened a considerably shorter time ago for the Doctor," Jack explained; then he looked at the Doctor, asking. "How long ago was it for you?"

The Time Lord gnawed on his lower lip, making calculations in his head.

"Thirty years in Earth time, give or take a few," he finally said. "It was my fourth incarnation; I used to travel a great deal during that time. Was quite an adventurous chap, in fact, but you can't blame me for that, after having been stranded on Earth for years."

"Speaking of it; which incarnation of yours is the current one?" Ianto asked curiously. "The sixth? The seventh?"

"The tenth, actually," the Doctor replied. "My lives seem to be getting shorter, the more I'm getting involved with your people. The most recent ones only lasted a couple of years."

"Number Nine was the one Tosh met in London," Jack told Ianto; they'd heard that story from Tosh quite a few times. "I used to like that one. He was a lot more… personable and a lot less cheeky back then."

"Hey!" the Doctor protested, clearly offended a bit. "People happen to like this regeneration, you know! Even Othara said it was cute. I mean I was cute."

"And Othara would be…?" Ianto trailed off expectantly.

"The Ancient who asked me to find you," the Doctor replied matter-of-factly. "Well, not exactly you, obviously, since we didn't actually know who you are… I mean, who the person we needed was… but she did ask me to find the right descendant of Janus, and that's apparently you."

"I think I'm going to have a migraine," Ianto declared.

"Oh, you'll get used to him after a while," Jack assured him. "Took me some time as well, but you'll get around it, too."

Ianto gave him a look he usually reserved for really annoying customers in the tourist information office.

"And why, pray tell, would I want to do so?" he asked, his tone revealing that he didn't see the necessity at all.

"Well, since you'll have to travel with me to the Pegasus galaxy, you better get used to me," the Doctor said promptly, before Jack could have thought of an answer.

That earned him three identically flabbergasted reactions. The Torchwood Three team was… well, petrified would have been the best description for it. But only for a moment – then they started to talk simultaneously.

"And why would I want to leave Cardiff with you?" Ianto asked.

"What makes you think you can just waltz in and take him with you?" Jack demanded angrily.

"Ianto?" Gwen said, blinking rapidly in disbelief. "You want Ianto to travel with you? What use could he possibly be for you, aside from preparing your tea every day?"

The Doctor bounced on the balls of his feet in amusement, waiting fort hem to wind down and finally listen to him. Then he turned to Ianto.

"I imagine that you probably don't want to leave Cardiff, especially not with me," he said, "but you must, I'm afraid. There's a crisis in the Pegasus galaxy that can only be solved with your help, and it has to be done before things swap over into the Milky Way galaxy. I'm very sorry, Jack," he added, turning to the captain, "but you'll have to let him go with me. He's needed there. There's something only he can do. And no, it's not for me; it's for all the humans who live in the Pegasus galaxy and who'd be lost without him. I hope this answers your question as well," he looked at Gwen.

"Actually… no, it doesn't," Gwen said after a moment of furious thinking. "You haven't actually told us anything."

"A brilliant realisation!" the Doctor beamed at her. "And I won't be telling you anything else, I'm afraid. I'm only authorised to tell the details Mr. Jones; and only after we've boarded the TARDIS."

"Are you trying to recruit him as your new companion?" Jack asked, experiencing an unexpected pang of jealousy. He wasn't even sure of whom he was jealous – of the Doctor, for trying to take Into for him, or of Ianto's great adventure.

The Doctor shook his head. "No. I'll just transport him to his destination. It's faster that way. Would we try the official channels, it would take too long. Time's something of an issue in this matter."

"I assume the official channel would be the SGC, via UNIT," Jack said.

"What's the SGC?" Gwen asked.

"Well, yes," the Doctor said. "We will launch the official transfer request, of course. The Brigadier might have retired from active duty, but he still has his contacts. Btu while the mills of bureaucracy are grinding, I can take Mr. Jones to Othara, so that they can talk and make the first steps."

"The first steps for what?" Jack asked with a frown.

Gwen tugged his sleeve to get his attention. "Jack, what Brigadier is he talking about?"

"Sir Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart was one of UNIT's founders and commander of the British contingent for almost twenty years," Ianto said in a slightly pedantic manner. "According to Torchwood One's sources, when the Doctor was exiled to Earth by his own people for breaking the Time Laws, the Brigadier gave him a position as UNIT's scientific advisor, to work with the best and the brightest of that time. If I'm not mistaken, sir," he added, looking at the Doctor, "the two of you have developed a close working relationship and a personal friendship over those years."

For a moment, the Doctor was absolutely speechless – which, as Jack knew from personal experience, didn't happen all that often.

"How on Earth…" he began; then he broke into a wide grin. "Oh, yes, of course; you know everything. I keep forgetting that."

"You aren't the only one, sir," Ianto replied, mildly sarcastic this time. "But the truth is, we junior researchers of Torchwood One used to have regular seminars about you and your history with the human race. You were considered as the #1 enemy of the Crown, after all. A Dr. Elizabeth Shaw was a recurring guest docent in this particular discipline; she's supposed to have worked with you for a while."

"She has," the Doctor said. "Well, not with me-me, obviously, but with a previous me. With my third self, actually. I think she'd be shocked if she could see me now; I used to look a lot older back then."

"He ages backward, like Merlin," Jack commented, grinning.

"That's not exactly true," the Doctor corrected. "Despite a great many contradictionary theories, nobody really knows why and how Time Lords change their looks and their personality when they regenerate. It's always a big game of chancery. My fifth self was quite young-looking, too."

"Doesn't in confuse the hell out of you, all these past lives?" Gwen asked. "As if time travel in itself weren't confusing enough…"

The Doctor shrugged. "Not really. I'm still me… well, mostly. For us, it's a natural thing. Well, it used to be, while there were more of us still."

"And now they aren't?" Gwen asked in surprise. "What happened to your people?"

"Gwen… leave it," Jack murmured. Gwen didn't understand his reaction.

"Why?" she insisted. "We need to know, Jack. Perhaps we can avoid making the same mistakes if we learn from what happened to them."

"Yeah, because mankind is so well-known for learning from their own mistakes, not to mention those of other people," the Doctor commented wryly.

Jack shook his head. "Believe me, Gwen; we're not in the same league. We can't even imagine the magnitude of things they did… including their mistakes."

"Why, thank you, Captain," the Doctor said. Then he looked at Gwen. "My people were wiped out in the Time War with the Daleks," he told her. "What could you possibly learn from that?"

"But I thought you wiped out the Daleks," Gwen protested. "Last time, when they managed to steal Earth…"

"That's… complicated, time-wise," the Doctor answered evasively. "I don't have the time to explain it to you. In any case, my people became extinct due to the Time Wars, save one; and that one died, too, at the end of the year that never was."

"Can we talk about something else?" Jack interrupted. "I don't have the fondest memories of that time, and I'm sure you don't have, either."

"Why?" Gwen asked. "You never told us anything about that time, Jack."

"No, and I won't, ever," Jack replied in a tone that broke no argument, turning his back to Gwen before she could have asked any more questions. The memories of dying on a daily basis still haunted him sometimes – he slept even less since that time.

"Well, Doctor," he said. "Assuming that I'd allow you to take Ianto with you to a foreign galaxy to meet some Ancient who's somehow managed to survive ten thousand years… when can I expect you to bring him back?"

The Doctor didn't answer at once. In fact, he remained silent for quite some time. Looking from Jack's anguished face to Ianto's carefully collected one and back again, as if considering how much he could tell them in advance.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," he finally admitted.

"Unacceptable," Jack replied curtly. "I won't let you take him to any suicidal missions. There have been too many deaths already."

"I'm not saying he's gonna die," the Doctor explained hurriedly. "He wouldn't be any good for those people if he were dead. He just… he just won't be able to return."

"He's not going, then," Jack declared with forced calmness.

"I don't think it's your decision to make," the Doctor replied.

"Oh yes, it is," Jack retorted. "I'm the living proof what a close association with you can do to a person. I might have been an intergalactic con man before I met you – well, I certainly was – but at least I wasn't an immortal freak."

"Now that really wasn't my doing," the Doctor protested.

"No," Jack allowed. "It was Rose, or the TARDIS, or the two of them together. Your ship, your prize companion, your knee-jerk reaction to leave me behind as soon as you realized what'd happened… weren't they? I won't let something monstrous like that happen to Ianto. He's not going, and that's final."

"But Jack," Gwen interfered, "the Doctor said it's crucial that Ianto goes with him and does… well, whatever he's supposed to do there. Lives are at risk; human lives. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of them…"

"Millions, actually," the Doctor corrected.

"I don't care," Jack said roughly. "I've come to realise that altruism ain't quite what it's said to be. I'm not sacrificing Ianto for the sake of some unknown people in a foreign galaxy. I've lost enough loved ones already. I'm not willing to lose him, too."

"You won't be able to keep him forever," Gwen pointed out. "He's mortal like the rest of us – you are not."

"Thanks for reminding me of the most basic joy of my existence," Jack replied with a bitter smile. "I just might have forgotten for a nanosecond that everyone I love will leave me sooner or later. I feel so much better now."

"You're being unfair!" Gwen returned with a hurt undertone. "I just wanted to…"

"Ms Cooper… don't," the Doctor interrupted. "It's hard enough for him as it is. Jack, I'm sorry. I'm really, honestly very sorry, but you'll just have to let him go."

"No." Jack said simply. "Not even over my dead body; as you know, I don't stay dead long enough for that."

Ianto, whom they'd all but forgotten in the heat of the argument, cleared his throat.

"Jack, the Doctor is right," he said apologetically. "It's not your decision; it's mine. I appreciate your concern, but I won't let you make that choice for me."

Jack gave him a look that was genuinely hurt. "You want to go with him?"

"First and foremost, I want to know more about the whole issue," Ianto said calmly. "If I have to go to the Pegasus galaxy to find out what I'm supposed to do, I will. Then I'll decide whether I'm going to actually do it or not," he looked at the Doctor. "No promises. No guarantees. You can bring me back within the day if I refuse, can't you?"

The Doctor nodded. "Of course; and I will. But I don't think you'll refuse."

"How could you know that?" Jack asked with a frown.

The Doctor smiled. "I don't. It's just a guess. A… an instinct, if you want."

"I'm not sure I do," Jack muttered darkly, but Ianto just shrugged.

"It doesn't matter. I want to know what this is all about; therefore I need to go with the Doctor. At least for the time it takes to get some answers."

"Hell, no!" Jack exclaimed forcefully. "There's no way in seven hells you'd go anywhere with the TARDIS. Not without me keeping an eye on you!"

The Doctor shrugged. "I think that can be arranged," he said simply.

"Jack, you can't leave, not again!" Gwen protested tearfully, shaken to the bone by the mere idea of losing him. "We need you here… I need you here!"

"No, you don't," Jack riposted. "You've got Rhys and your baby."

"And I don't need a babysitter," Ianto declared, thoroughly annoyed with his over-protective lover.

"Oh yes, you do," Jack answered grimly. "Travelling with the TARDIS isn't the jolly adventure it may seem to you. It's dangerous out there, Ianto; and the TARDIS can be a trouble magnet sometimes."

"Look who's speaking," Ianto muttered. "Well, Martha used to travel with the Doctor – and so did you, back when you were still mortal."

"Yeah; and look at me what I've become," Jack returned.

Ianto gave him a thorough once-over. "I like the results," he said mildly.

"Wait until I've aged half a billion years and become the Face of Boe," Jack replied ominously. "Anyway, it's not up to discussion. You're not going anywhere without me."

Gwen and Ianto began to protest rather vocally, although for entirely different reasons. The Doctor watched the scene unfolding before his eyes in tolerant amusement. Finally, when the mutual glaring (Ianto), whining (Gwen) and shouting (Jack) had finally died down, he looked at Jack and cleared his throat.

"Now, Jack, time's running away from us; when will the two of you start packing?"

It's amazing how quickly things can be arranged if one is determined enough to make them work, Ianto thought four days later, having finished the inventory of the Archives and sealing them before he'd leave the Hub for indefinite time. Perhaps forever.

So many things had happened in those four days that his head was still spinning when he thought about it. For starters, Torchwood Three was no more. That is, the Hub was still intact, but it had been handed over to UNIT, pterodactyl and all.

The Brigadier, at the Doctor's request, had pulled quite a few strings, so that Jack wouldn't lose control over his former headquarters completely. For example, the Archives would remain sealed, unless Jack came back somewhen in the future and opened them again – for which his fingerprints, his DNA, his retinal scan and his voice pattern would be required. The deceased Torchwood members and other casualties would rest undisturbed in the vaults. The alien tech kept in the Secure Archives would remain sealed off. UNIT would only have access to the digital records.

But Torchwood Three as a branch of the original Institute had ceased to exist. A UNIT-team had been assigned to take over the Hub and the monitoring of the Rift, led by Dr. Elizabeth Shaw herself, who'd retired from active research after having received her Nobel Prize in physics. However, although no longer the youngest, she was still eager to learn more about alien technology, and so had been easily talked into accepting the position.

As the Doctor had foretold, she was fairly shocked by his youthful appearance. She did mention to Jack and Ianto, though, that the Doctor's personality would be much more agreeable than it had used to be during his exile on Earth.

"He was brash, self-centered and arrogant," she explained. "I was supposed to assist him with his research, but all he required from me was to hand him his test tubes and tell him how wonderful he was about every five minutes. Never mind that I've already had several scientific degrees by then; he treated me like some incompetent lab rat. He seems so much nicer now."

"Not to mention cuter," Technician Sally Jacobs, who'd been shown some old photographs by Dr. Shaw, commented.

Dr. Shaw had brought her own team: a group of ambitious young scientists and technicians, who'd all had previous experience with alien tech; they were UNIT-trained, after all. The numbers made it possible to work out a rotation of three shifts, so that the Hub would be manned all the time. Not having anyone like Jack among them, who could run without sleep for days, they had to use different methods.

Martha Jones had been reassigned to the British division of UNIT and would take over as medical officer as soon as she'd returned from their honeymoon. The protection of the Hub and the actual fighting of Weevils and other less-than-friendly aliens had been entrusted to a platoon of UNIT soldiers, under the command of Warrant Officer Joe Benson. Also an old acquaintance of the Doctor's, the former Sergeant had been called back from retirement by the Brigadier. The fact that he was a semi-civilian now (having worked as a used car salesman for quite a few years) had been the decided factor by selecting the head of security for the Hub. Not to mention that Jack wouldn't hand over the keys to just anyone.

Jack's last official act was to recruit Mickey Smith as a freelance agent. Mikey had been drifting a bit since his return from the alternate universe; as an ex-companion, he was promptly hired by Dr. Shaw as a civilian UNIT member. Gwen, on the other hand, had been politely but firmly rejected.

"I'm sorry, my dear," Dr. Shaw told her as gently as possible, "but you don't have either the scientific qualification or the technical know-how to be incorporated in our team. And the fighting of aliens is the job of professional soldiers by UNIT. We're not running things by Captain Harkness' cowboy methods here."

Gwen had been deeply offended, of course – unlike Rhys, who couldn't have been happier. He'd never liked her new, secretive job, and now hoped that when she returned to the police, they'd finally have more time for each other again. Especially now that Gwen was pregnant. So she'd returned to the police, with a good enough service file from Torchwood that she'd get promoted to Desk Sergeant and didn't have to go out and endanger herself, to Rhys' eternal relief. She was still very angry with Jack, of course, for not putting in a word for her with UNIT, but Jack was lad to know that she'd be reasonably safe.

Ianto had paid Rhiannon and her family a hasty visit. Told them he'd been reassigned to a different branch in the States and probably wouldn't be able to call or write for a while. They'd been sad to let him go, but thought it was a promotion and were proud of him at the same time.

And so the day came for him, Jack and the Doctor to board the TARDIS and leave. The entire UNIT-team gathered in the middle of the main Hub area, where the TARDIS had been parking all the time, to see them off. Martha became all teary-eyed and emotional, which rarely happened to her, but she fought back her tears valiantly.

"Take care, you three," she said, kissing each one of them goodbye, "and don't forget to call from time to time. I'll keep an eye on your families, I promise. Well, on those of Jack and Ianto anyway."

The two men thanked her, shook hands with those they knew and with some of those they didn't, then they shouldered their last backpacks, ready to begin their journey into the great unknown. The rest of their baggage had already been placed inside the TARDIS.

Before he'd open the door, the Doctor looked around in the Hub one last time; then he turned to Jack.

"Are you sure about this, Jack? This place has been your work, your home for a very long time. Do you really want to give it up for good?"

Jack nodded. "I've been here long enough… even for someone like me," he said. "If I stayed, I'd only lose the few people left to me at an awfully young age, too. It's better so. Gwen's safely put away in a normal life. Ianto's on his way to something better than Torchwood could ever have offered to him – or so I hope anyway – and as for me, I've missed travelling with you. Yes, it was a risky business, but it was also fun. Mostly."

"Well, I offered to take you with me after the year that never was," the Doctor said.

Jack shrugged. "I wasn't ready, back then. My team needed me, and I needed them. I wanted to go back to them; mostly to Ianto, but also to the others. Now that they're gone, except him, there's nothing to keep me here anymore."

"If Ianto accepts his destiny, and I'm fairly sure he will, would you care to travel with me again?" the Doctor asked hopefully. Having a companion who'd be able to stay with him for a longer period of time was a tempting perspective.

"I don't want to abandon Ianto," Jack said.

"Where he goes, you won't be needed," the Doctor warned him. "You'd even be a hindrance, at least in the first time. But I promise you we'd drop by for regular visits."

"That won't be enough," Jack said. "I've promised not to leave him, and I intend to keep that promise. I've got forever – I can afford to be monogamous for one human lifetime."

"If I've understood things correctly," the Doctor replied, "you're gonna have a lot longer than just one human lifetime. If he accepts, that is."

Jack wanted to learn more about that, but the Doctor refused to reveal any details, saying that it wasn't his story to tell – and especially not to a third party. Even less so while they were still on Earth.

"Oh, well, keep your secrets," Jack groused. "But if you aren't telling me any more, I can't give you any binding answer, either. I'd like to see more of the wonders of the Universe – who wouldn't? – but my answer depends on Ianto's decision."

"Fair enough," the Doctor flung open the wooden door with a grand gesture. "Welcome to the TARDIS, gentlemen! Next stop: the Pegasus galaxy."

"Yippee!" to Ianto's honest shock, Jack ran into the blue police box and hugged the shiny copper-coloured structure in the middle of its unexpectedly spacious interior. "You can't imagine how much I've missed the old girl!"

~TBC~

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting a story recently deleted from FF.Net.


End file.
